


Lay Hold Upon Him

by Fyre



Series: Desire Increase [9]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Public Hand Holding, the slow road to intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26719804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: After the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, Aziraphale and Crowley are trying new things.Wherein an angel takes a demon's hand to cross the road
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Desire Increase [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1784770
Comments: 25
Kudos: 178





	Lay Hold Upon Him

The rain had finally dried up, just in time for their booking for afternoon tea at a new café that had opened in Covent Garden. The lucky proprietors had successfully acquired one of the sought-after spots in the old Market Hall and Aziraphale to admit he was quite excited to see what new treats would be in store.

“We could’ve driven,” Crowley said, as the emerged into the crisp wintery day.

“And then spent the same amount of time looking for a parking space,” Aziraphale retorted with a chuckle. “No, I think not. Anyway, a little fresh air never harmed anyone.”

Crowley muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Tell that to Sharknado.”

Some things, Aziraphale had learned, it was simpler not to question.

They were part way along Shaftesbury when Crowley nudged him. “Have you checked the menu for this place?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I haven’t been yet.”

“I mean onl… no, nevermind.” With a wiggle of his hips, Crowley managed to withdraw a flat palm-held device with a screen. “I had a look on the website,” he said, running his finger rapidly up and down on the glass. “They’ve got a few specialities that sound up your alley.”

Aziraphale hid his smile, trying to keep himself from giving a small shimmy of delight. The fact that Crowley had not only checked in advance but knew what he liked always gave him a little frisson of pleasure. “Is that so?”

“Dug out stuff that used to be all the rage around the markets,” Crowley confirmed, still thumbing at his screen as they approached the crossing. “Traditional London delicacies they’re calling it. Got some premium jellied eels and what have you.”

When Crowley didn’t seem to notice the crossing, Aziraphale reached out automatically, slipping a hand through the crook of his elbow to stop him.

And simultaneously, they both turned to stare at his rogue hand, then at each other.

“Traffic,” Aziraphale said weakly.

One side of Crowley’s mouth crooked up. “Uh huh. Any excuse, eh, angel?”

Heat bloomed up Aziraphale’s cheeks and he made a moue. “You do so love being difficult, don’t you?”

“Lifetime of experience,” Crowley replied with a grin.

Neither of them commented on the fact that Aziraphale’s hand was still tucked around his as they crossed the road and even when they reached the other side. Frankly, Aziraphale wasn’t sure that he _would_ be able to form any coherent words, with the coarse fabric of Crowley’s jacket against his palm and the lean warmth of his forearm beneath it.

His heart seemed to be going a rapid impression of a regimental drummer and everso cautiously, he curled his fingers over Crowley’s arm as they meandered south through the bustling streets. There were people about, of course, but he scarcely noticed them, cataloguing all the points where he and Crowley intersected.

Upper arms brushed now and then, but he was more aware of the graze of his arm against Crowley’s slender ribcage. Of the rise and fall of his ribs through his jacket. Of the slowing of his usual saunter to match Aziraphale’s shorter strides.

“Winkles!” Crowley said suddenly.

Aziraphale was abruptly tugged back from his reverie. “I beg your pardon.”

“That’s what I was looking for!” Crowley turned a smile and his phone to the angel. “Use to love some winkles, didn’t you?” He laughed. “Remember that time we tried winkle picking ourselves and you insisted on trying to cook them in that bucket?”

Aziraphale couldn’t help smile at the recollection. He’d seen some children trying the same thing and they had been successful, but then, they had had a metal pail and he had entirely forgotten that his was wooden and very damp. “This is why I leave it to the professionals,” he insisted, swatting Crowley gently on the arm.

That made Crowley’s cheeks flush, as if he had only just remembered they were still twined together in public as if it were perfectly natural.

He moved suddenly, pulling his arm free, and Aziraphale’s heart dropped like a rock.

“No!” Crowley yelped, clearly spotting it in his expression and hastily grabbing for his hand. “I was– you didn’t–” He reddened even more. “You’ve got warm hands,” he blurted out instead, threading his fingers through Aziraphale’s without further preamble.

“Oh!” Aziraphale felt suddenly lighter than air and beamed at him. “Well, I did tell you that you ought to get some gloves.”

“Ah, shaddup, angel.” In lieu of dramatically rolling his eyes, Crowley elected to dramatically roll his whole head on his shoulders.

“Maybe I shall just get you some,” Aziraphale teased, lips twitching. He shivered happily as he brushed his thumb gently down the side of Crowley’s forefinger, feeling the answering squeeze of response, bringing palm to palm. “After all, I can’t have you getting cold hands.”

“M’warm now,” Crowley grumbled, tracing his own thumb against Aziraphale’s.

The angel had to look away, biting on his lower lip to keep from smiling like an absolute ninny. “Oh, well,” he said, once he had mastered himself. “If you insist, then I shall just have to accommodate you as and when you require my aid.”

“Very generous of you,” Crowley said dryly.

Aziraphale glanced at him, lips still twitching. “Well, you know, I _am_ an angel, after all.”

Crowley snorted happily. “You’re a trouble-maker,” he retorted.

“Well…” Aziraphale replied virtuously, “nothing in the rules about not being both.”

“Pah!” Crowley’s hoot of laughter made people around them turn in surprise.

“Oh, hush,” Aziraphale said, squeezing his hand. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Pot, kettle.”

The angel smiled contentedly. “In every possible way.” He hesitated, then daringly lifted Crowley’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles.

If there had ever been any question of his trouble-making status, it was shattered as Crowley spluttered, tripped over his own feet and the pavement simultaneously, and all but crashed into Aziraphale’s ready embrace.

“Bastard,” he grumbled fondly.

Blushing, Aziraphale dared to peck him on the cheek. “Always.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Lay Hold Upon Him](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26835508) by [Djapchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djapchan/pseuds/Djapchan)




End file.
